


A Mystery to Me

by apliddell



Series: A Chemical Defect [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: F/M, POV First Person, POV John Watson, UST
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-27
Updated: 2014-07-27
Packaged: 2018-02-10 15:24:52
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 784
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2030178
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/apliddell/pseuds/apliddell
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John and Sherlock wait for John's wedding ceremony to begin.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Mystery to Me

“I’m going to be sick,” I tell my reflection. Out of the tail of my eye, I see Sherlock pop out of his armchair with a little smirk on. He leans over my shoulder, resting one warm hand heavily on my back to steady himself and plonks his top hat on the dressing table in front of me.

“Use the hat,” he says near my ear, “and aim away from the cravat.”

“You’ve got to wear the hat, Sherlock,” I say trying to look stern at him in the mirror.

Sherlock rolls his eyes up at the ceiling, “What for?”

“So you look like me,” I tell him, turning to look at his face instead of his reflection.

“I think you mean so that I’m dressed like you. I’m never going to look like you, I’m afraid. Anyway, the former is easily managed.” Sherlock plucks off my hat and drops it onto the dressing table next to his. He turns me toward the mirror and leans down and in over my shoulder so that our faces are level. “There,” he says. “Now we’re identical.” He makes a little amused hum that isn’t quite a laugh, and he’s standing so close that I can feel it buzz through me as well. “Identical to the extent possible, anyway.”

“Right, to the extent possible. I’m never going to be six foot tall and all cool and handsome-” I cut myself off, feeling rather conspicuous.

Sherlock’s eyebrow bounces in the mirror, but he doesn’t draw back or straighten up. “Not if you go about in top hats, John. Nobody ever looked cool and handsome in a top hat.”

We stare at each other in the mirror, Sherlock's cocky eyebrow still raised. “Fred Astaire,” I say after a moment.

Sherlock laughs, “All right, then. Touche. Fred Astaire.”

“And I suppose that makes me Ginger.”

Sherlock’s mouth twitches, and the hand on my back drops. “I taught you to lead,” he says, straightening up.

“And even Ginger looks better in a top hat than I do,” I say with a sigh.

“I tried to talk you out of them, John.”

“‘Traditional morning dress for gentlemen-’”

“For the love of god, John! Stop!” Sherlock grabs my shoulder and gives it a little shake, spinning me to face him. “If you start quoting that bloody book at me again, I shall do something desperate. I’m not above slaughtering you on your wedding day, John Watson; you know I’m not. And I’d get away with it, too.”I laugh, “You shouldn’t have introduced me to your tailor, Sherlock. Mr Spencer and I are going to be very firm friends; I can feel it already.”

Sherlock’s thumb twitches on my shoulder, and he grins down at me. “I really don’t know what I was thinking,” he says. I smile back at him, and we’re still and quiet for a moment until the door of the room bursts open and Archie the ring-bearer enters.

“Janine told me to tell you that Mary says it’ll be five minutes until the thing goes!” he announces slightly breathlessly. “Ceremony. That thing. What are you doing?” he frowns at us.

Sherlock drops his hand from my shoulder, but edges half a step closer to me. “Thank you, Archie. We’re nearly ready. Could you excuse us, please? Thank you.” And he turns his back to the door. Archie throws a suspicious look between the two of us but bangs obligingly out of the room.

I turn back to Sherlock, “I really am going to be sick in your hat now,” I say. And actually I might do. I feel quite queasy.

Sherlock smiles into my face and raises his hand to my shoulder again. My back, really. Where he’d rest it when we he was teaching me to dance. “No, you won’t be, John. Just a bit of nerves. Nothing to worry about; you’ll be an excellent husband.” As he speaks, he runs his hand in broad, slow strokes up and down my back.

I shut my eyes. “Do you really think so?”

Sherlock seems to hesitate, but when I open my eyes, he nods at me. “Of course you will, John. Of course you will.” He wets his lips and swallows. “Of course you will.” His hand on my back pauses for half a moment, then resumes stroking, firmer and faster. “Don’t you worry about a thing, John. It’s all going to be just fine. You’ll see. Everything’s going to be fine.”

I draw a deep breath, and Sherlock inhales with me. “Right. Of course. Yes, you’re right.”

“Of course I’m right, John. I make it my responsibility to be right. It’s all fine. Everything’s going to be fine.”


End file.
